Home > The Waking Up Married Situation

The Waking Up Married Situation
Author: London Casey


Chapter One






* * *


“What does Remi even stand for?”

“We’re getting married, and you don’t even know my full name?”

“Are you going to say ‘I do’ or what?”

“Ah, what the hell, babe… we only live once in life. I do. I do take you to be my wife. I do take you to-”

I felt like someone slapped me across the face as my body jerked awake from the dream. I looked left to right and was alone in the bed in the hotel room.

Of course I had a dream about a wedding.

I had just been at a wedding the night before.

Abel and Wren were now officially married.

Those two couldn’t wait to get married either. Wren was plump with pregnancy and Abel had love in his eyes like I had never seen in a person before.

Wren toasted her groom, their marriage, and all the guests with a glass of apple juice.

And Abel being the stubborn prick he was made everyone at the wedding drink a glass of apple juice too.

If only I had stuck with the apple juice, my head wouldn’t have been pounding the way it was as I started to sit up in the large bed.

Lay was the one who got the booze started.

No shock there.

Him and Maverick brought a bottle of whiskey. We finished that in ten minutes. Then we found a bar and decided to clean it out.

That’s what weddings were for though, right? To celebrate, have a few drinks, laugh a little, eat some food, dance, and call it a night.

When I sat up and swung my feet off the bed, I reached for my right shoulder.

The same dull ache that never went away was now pain. Constant pain. The kind of pain that only a great surgeon could take care of for me.

Now I was right back to square one.

Thinking about the potentially season ending surgery on my shoulder.

Who the hell am I kidding here? This will end my season. This will fuck up the entire season for the team too.

At least the team had Abel to rally around.

Wren being pregnant. Them getting married. Wren ready to give birth sooner rather than later.

For the fans though, it was going to be a pain in the ass kind of season.

That’s why I drank so much the night before. It wasn’t just to celebrate Abel and Wren and their beautiful wedding.

I drank because I was pissed off.

About my shoulder. About the upcoming season.

Because I was feeling a little lonely too.

I glanced over my shoulder and nodded.

At least I was in my hotel room alone.

Last thing I needed right now was some woman in my bed. Clinging to me because I had too much to drink the night before and whispered a promise in her ear I knew I’d never remember and would never keep.

I considered that a victory for the morning.

I stood up and took a deep breath.

Hangovers weren’t what they used to be.

I wasn’t old but I was older than when I signed my first professional hockey contract. Days of drinking that turned into nights of drinking that turned into being on the ice before sunrise without so much as a hiccup were long gone now.

That was fine for today.

There was no practice.

Everyone would be waking up with a little bit of a heavy head.

With the exception of Wren.

I smiled when I thought about her.

And Abel.

They were good together.

Abel knew if he dicked around at all, I’d be right there to smash his head off a wall to smarten him up.

I walked across the hotel room and pointed to the coffeemaker.

The coffeepot was missing.

I slowly turned my head and looked down.

The coffeepot was on the floor.

Shattered into pieces.

“What the hell happened here last night?” I whispered.

I carefully stepped back to avoid any invisible shards of glass that wanted to nestle into the bottom of my foot.

I looked around the rest of the hotel room and everything was in place. Everything looked normal. For some reason, that poor coffeepot took a beating. And I couldn’t remember why.

Once we got to the bar last night, things became a little bit of a blur.

The only real memory I had was a faint image of Lay asking for some kind of a drink that was on fire so he could swallow it and see what it felt like. And then Riff made a comment about some woman doing the same thing and then going down on him.

I remembered casually looking over my shoulder, watching Abel and Wren. Dancing together. Her big belly between them. Abel knowing how to stand and move to make sure Wren didn’t feel guilty about her stomach. I was amazed what had happened to Abel when he found someone to love and someone who loved him.

Then the night went fuzzy and dark.

What I needed was some coffee.

Coffee and clarity.

And if the coffee didn’t provide the clarity, then I’d just have to ask the guys what the hell happened last night. It wasn’t like me to get that drunk. I was kind of the protector of the team. It was my job to keep everyone out of trouble, including myself.

Which meant after coffee, I needed to track the guys down.

To make sure nobody was in jail.

To make sure nobody did anything really stupid.



The warm morning sun did not mix well with my headache.

I stood on the sidewalk and looked left to right, trying to jog my memory back.

I kept a dark pair of sunglasses glued to my face to ease the pain and I sipped the hotel lobby coffee like it was nectar that would keep me alive forever.

Just as I finished that first coffee, I turned to go back to get another, when I heard someone call my name.

A guy I didn’t know came jogging toward me, looking shocked to see me.

Please tell me I don’t know this guy.

“Remi! Holy shit! It’s Remi!” He looked back at his girlfriend or wife. “Honey, it’s Remi from the Apple Cats. The guy who beats everyone up.”

You know, I did score a career high in goals and assists last year too. My game goes way beyond jumping in to keep my teammates safe on the ice. But you wouldn’t realize that, would you?

“Man, you’re my favorite player on the team,” the guy yelled at me.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“What are you doing here? You don’t have a game out here, do you?”

“Wedding,” I said. “Thanks for supporting the team.”

“Oh, I’m a huge fan,” the guy said. “I can’t believe this. I don’t have my jersey with me…”

“Got a pen?” I asked.

He looked at his girlfriend or wife.

She sighed as she dug into a small bag and produced a pen.

I took it from her with a nod and then signed my coffee cup.

“Here,” I said to the guy. “An autographed jersey is cliché.”

“Whoa,” the guy said. “A coffee cup. This is cool.”

“You are not putting that on a shelf in our living room,” the woman said.

“You’re damn right I am!” the man yelled.

“Sorry about that,” I said to her.

“Marriage is all about compromise,” she said to me.

Yeah, sorry to hear that.

“I’m sure you understand, right?”

I laughed.

“Oh, honey, Remi isn’t married,” the man said.

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